A Red Recording
by Anouka93
Summary: Patrick Jane is sure that he'll never know exactly what happened on the night of his family's death. He didn't count on Red John's camera skills...
1. Chapter 1

**A Red Recording **

**Description: Jane was sure that he would never know exactly what happened on the night of his family's death. He didn't count on Red John's camera skills...**

As the working day began to wind down the bullpen was filled with the sound of quiet bustling as people prepared to go home. Lisbon was in her office making no move to go anywhere as she worked her way through the mountain of paperwork that regularly occupied her desk. Cho had already left for the night, eager to escape after Rigsby had broken out a fresh set of photos of his little son, Ben, talking a mile a minute about the amazing new things his young child could do ("He's already rolling over! Apparently that's _really_ advanced for his age…"). Van Pelt had looked on, smiling as she felt her usual bittersweet emotions over Wayne's joy in fatherhood.

Rigsby had put away the photos now and was packing up his briefcase so that he too could leave for the day. Van Pelt had gone back to idly clicking around her computer screen, every few minutes refreshing the page of the criminal database she monitored to see if any of her searches on the CBI's most wanted had come up with fresh leads.

"Well, I'm heading out. Night, Grace." Van Pelt looked up from the screen to see Rigsby in his overcoat, his briefcase in one hand as he began to make his way out of the bullpen. She gave a wave and said "See you tomorrow, Wayne." He turned around in acknowledgement of her words and gave a goofy little salute as he kept walking. As he did this a beeping sound drew Van Pelt's attention back to her computer screen and she froze as she saw what had appeared on the screen.

"Wayne!" Van Pelt yelled without realizing what she was doing. Rigsby, who had only gotten down the hall by this time, came running back into the bullpen, looking around wildly to see what was wrong.

"What is it, what's going on?" Van Pelt pointed silently at her computer screen and waited for Rigsby to process the information as she had just done. Finally he gave a heaving sigh and said "You gotta show this to Lisbon." Grace nodded in agreement and, unhooking her laptop from its power source, and carried the computer into her boss's office behind the glass doors.

Lisbon looked up wearily. "What you got? New leads?" Lisbon was a dedicated cop and never questioned the thought of starting a new project late in the day.

Van Pelt was visibly nervous, her hands shaking slightly as she clung to the laptop in her arms. "Boss, I was running all the regular searches and something new came up in the Red John case… a video."

Lisbon's reaction was muted from exhaustion, but she looked quite startled and concerned all the same; CBI cases beginning with videos sent to the criminal database had never really had happy endings. Lisbon said nothing as she watched the video that Van Pelt and Rigsby had already seen, turning pale as it progressed and finally having to wipe her suddenly tear-filled eyes with her long sleeved shirt as it came to an end. Despite trying to keep her voice calm and even, she found herself almost yelling when she said "Where's Jane? Get Jane down here right now!"

Van Pelt and Rigsby looked at one another, obviously confused. Rigsby cleared his throat and said "Boss, I know this is his case, but are you sure you want to get him in on this right now? I mean, we could at least wait until the crime scene is found instead of letting him run around on a wild goose chase to figure out who these new victims are-"

"These aren't new victims," Lisbon interrupted, "This video is from ten years ago. These people are Angela and Charlotte Jane. It's his wife and daughter."


	2. Chapter 2

Patrick Jane was lying upstairs in his small but spacious attic room in the CBI headquarters. Having set up a bed and workspace it was all but his home now, and he was prone to slipping out of the bullpen for long stretches of time and retiring to his room for a nap. He lay on his bed now, playing over in his head the events of the case he and the team had solved only this afternoon. As he mentally congratulated himself on his most recent ruse to get a confession out of the murderer, a timid knock came at the door of his room. Jane ignored it, knowing from experience that if he pretended to be asleep (or at least sound like he was sleeping) he would go undisturbed.

But the knock came again, louder this time, now accompanied by the deep male voice of his colleague Rigsby, calling "Jane, Lisbon wants you in her office. I'd make it quick if I were you." Jane knew he couldn't pretend any longer and, swinging his feet, still encased in his brown suede shoes, he pulled himself off the bed and hastily went to open the heavy sliding door. As he pushed it open with a small effort Jane was greeted by Rigsby looking probably the most morose he'd ever seen him. Not the most frightened or upset, but certainly quite glum.

Nonetheless Jane adopted his signature grin as he looked up at Rigsby and said "Why so serious? I would swear I've been sufficiently chastised for the day- is she bringing you into it too? You heard me, you know I told her that it was all my idea. I hope she hasn't been giving you too bad of a time… Rigsby?" Jane's grin dropped from his face as he finished speaking, for he now saw that Rigsby was in no joking mood, which must mean something far more serious than if it were anyone else. Jane shut his mouth and wordlessly followed Rigsby through the hall, down the stairs, past the elevators and into Lisbon's office. She was seated behind her desk, Van Pelt facing her from a chair opposite. At the sight of Jane both women looked up and were immediately anxious, Lisbon getting to her feet and almost running to face Jane before he got to the computer.

"What's going on here? Something interesting… at least judging by the expressions on all of your faces…" Jane turned his head to stare at each of them in turn, and, unable to lift a clue as to why they were acting so strangely, said, "Well, if nothing's happening I'll just go, shall I?"

"C'mon Grace, let's get outta here." Rigsby touched Van Pelt on the shoulder and she rose, nodding once each to Lisbon and Jane before following Rigsby out into the hall. Jane watched them through the glass, gathering their coats and bags and finally exiting together.

Jane rubbed his eyes with one hand, his other hand resting tiredly in his suit's jacket pocket. "Honestly, Lisbon, I haven't got all night, show me whatever's on your computer or I'm leaving."

Lisbon knew she couldn't avoid it any longer, so she simply walked back behind her desk and adjusted her webpage, making sure the video was loaded and set to play from the beginning. She wasn't sure if she should introduce it or not, but she knew Jane would want to be alone when he watched it. She walked past Jane again to stand by her office door, one hand on the handle as he sat down in her still-warm chair and scooted it closer to the desk. He had already pressed play as Lisbon left her office, shutting the door firmly behind her, despite the CBI headquarters being mostly empty by now, and headed to the kitchen for what she expected to be a very long cup of coffee.


	3. Chapter 3

Jane didn't know what everyone was acting so strangely about, but an educated guess told him it was probably Red John-related; thus, he was far too preoccupied with the promise of a new lead in the case to worry over how his colleagues might be acting towards him.

Jane pressed play on the video on Lisbon's screen that he was evidently meant to watch, leaning back comfortably at first, but quickly sitting up, his back stiff as he recognized the large house that had just appeared in the frame, the first image after a blank black screen. The camerawork was wobbly, but nonetheless clear, although the scene took place at night. As the screen appeared to approach the front door of the house Jane was in no doubt that this was his own beach-front mansion in Malibu.

His heart was pumping at a hard, eager pace as he maximized the screen and drew his face as close to the monitor as possible. Still at the front door, a black-gloved hand reached into the picture and used an unbent paperclip to expertly shimmy open the front door's lock. From the way the camera angle tilted when the hands unlocked the door, Jane was able to decipher that the camera must have been fixed to the head (or hat) of the person now quietly gliding into his home, making his way past the sitting room littered with children's toys. If Jane had suspected before the time period in which this little film took place, he was now sure. That house hadn't contained the remnants of a child resident for almost a full decade. The person behind the camera passed the sitting room without stopping, as though he knew exactly where he was going, heading straight for the stairs that led up to the house's family bedrooms.

Jane felt ice cold. He had been tormented by the idea of what had happened on that night, tortured by the thought of the pain and terror that his wife and young daughter must have experienced. And yet, now, as he had that very information at his fingertips, he didn't know if he could bear to watch it, bear the inevitable screaming and stabbing that it would surely include. His friend Kristina Frye had once told him that, on the night of her death, his daughter had never woken up. Jane wanted so much for that to be true, but knew in his most logical of minds that it couldn't be; for he was aware, far too well aware of Red John's agenda when it came to killing… a cold-blooded exercise in horror, and there was no way he would have ever let a victim sleep through it.

The intruder behind the camera was now at the top of the stairs, and seemed to stand still for a moment. The screen pointed directly to the closed door at the end of the hall, the same angle at which Jane had first seen the printed letter taped to the white-painted wood. Jane watched without blinking, expecting the intruder to head straight for that door, just as he had done a few hours later. Instead, the camera turned to point to the right, to the door on the side of the hall that was slightly ajar, and had a little paper sign hanging from it that said "Charlotte." The sign grew larger in the frame as the camera drew near the door, and Jane recalled his daughter as she sat at the dining table drawing it with colored pencils. She had made each letter to look like an animal, and Jane was for a split second distracted as he remembered delightedly laughing at her 'h' that looked like a giraffe, her 'l' that was a spotted green snake.

The happy emotion was fleeting, and Jane was pulled back into the horrifying reality of what was about to happen, indeed, what had happened. The black gloved hand reached out to push the door fully open, revealing a large room with walls that were sky blue during the day, but stood shadowed and gray during the night. There were yet more toys in here, stuffed animals strewn around the rug shaped like a butterfly, a charming little dollhouse that looked much-used standing in the center of the room, miniature toys and furniture lying all around its perimeter. In the corner of the room was a small single bed, supported by a simple white wooded frame. In the bed was a tiny girl sleeping on her side, her face toward the door. Her flowered blanket was pulled up to her shoulders and her two little hands stuck out near her face, one on her pillow, one resting beneath her head, which was topped with thick blonde hair, only half of it remaining in the braid she had gone to sleep with.

Jane's jaw was clenched. His hands were clamped into tight fists on the desk. But, painful as it was, close as he was to those hot, angry tears before the violence-inducing rage that had sent him to a mental hospital, Jane knew he had to keep watching. He had vowed to get his revenge for his family, to make Red John pay for what he had done, and it was therefore his duty to sit through the very act which he was avenging, watch every moment of the event that had torn his life apart, and would continue to do so until he reached his goal.

And yet, the sight of his little daughter, the little girl for whom he would have given his own life, would have done anything for, loved more than humanly possible, induced such a raw pain in Patrick Jane that there was no fighting the tears that came now, thick and fast. The utter ragged guilt he compressed inside himself every day was spilling out and for once he was glad that the CBI building seemed to be empty around him. His daughter, his Charlotte's delicate, innocent face, so animated with life despite being asleep, was a brutal reminder of how soon her short existence was to end.

Charlotte's resting face was now crystal clear on the screen, as the intruder appeared to loom over her, the white moonlight shining onto her bed through the un-curtained window above her head. The tiny creaks of the floor as the intruder approached had apparently disturbed her sleep, and she rustled the covers for a moment as she unconsciously adjusted her arms from over the covers to underneath them, her eyes closed and her breathing slow as she drew the blanket up to her chin.

The black gloved hands reappeared in the frame, the left brushing some stray hairs away from Charlotte's eyes, stopping briefly to tenderly touch her cheek, the left hand brandishing a large knife with a pointed, thin blade and a worn wooden handle. The hand that was touching Charlotte's face is now on her shoulder, jostling her until her eyes fluttered open, revealing large blue irises that looked around the room, confused to be woken up so suddenly in the night. The little girl stared into what was presumably the face of the intruder, and then right into the camera perched on his head. She looked down at the knife now being held against her chest and her eyes grew wide and round, though she stayed quiet.


	4. Chapter 4

Lisbon was in the kitchen, waiting for her pot of coffee to brew. She stood with her back leaning against the counter, her arms crossed as she replayed in her head what Jane was seeing right now. Her heart ached a little for her friend, for the distress this would undoubtedly cause, before relighting the murderous fire in his belly that had defined his early days with the CBI.

While Jane still seemed intent on revenge, Lisbon had noticed a subtle calming of his nature. There was nothing explicit, just a look here, a particularly worded comment there, which made Lisbon believe, hope dearly, that, should they find Red John now, Jane might be convinced to let him go alive into police custody. In this way, she felt it was almost a good thing that the murderer had eluded their capture for so long, giving Jane a chance to gain some perspective. However, a discovery like this was sure to undo all that progress, and Lisbon feared for the damage it might do to Jane's carefully constructed façade of being okay.

Even after all these years, Jane, as coy and clever as he was, could never quite entirely hide what a devoted family man-type he was. Any time the team found themselves handling a case that involved young children his eyes would grow soft and concerned, and he immediately switched over from the cold bastard persona he most often patronized to a sweet, gentle _dad_. Patrick Jane in his dad mode broke Lisbon's heart for so many reasons; not only because of her knowledge of the child he'd had and lost, but because of how much she would have loved to have him as a father when she'd been a girl. Lisbon sometimes wondered if that was part of the reason she and Jane seemed to mesh together so well… she, a daughter without her father, Jane a dad without his little girl.

Lisbon awoke from this deep reverie at the sound of her full pot of coffee crackling behind her. She knew Jane must be finished with at least his first viewing of the video by now, and wondered how many times he'd replayed it since she has fallen into her deep, tired thoughts. She poured herself a generous cup of black coffee, and, after briefly considering bringing Jane a cup of tea before ultimately deciding that she would get it so wrong as to probably make him _more_ upset, she headed cautiously around the corner towards her office.

Lisbon saw through the glass window that Jane was still sitting at her desk where she had left him, but he was leaning back in her chair and his eyes were closed. She could tell before she even entered the room that this was not a relaxed state, but rather, a tense attempt to gain self-control. She steeled herself slightly and firmly pushed open the door.

Jane's eyes remained closed, but he gave a small nod in acknowledgement of her entrance, and said, "Isn't it a little late for coffee, Lisbon? You won't be able to sleep." His eyes opened to tiredly look at Lisbon as she sat down on the red couch perpendicular to her desk, holding her full mug of coffee so as not to spill the hot black liquid. She looked at Jane for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, how to assess his mood.

"I'm sorry that this couldn't remain more private, Jane, it was sent to the CBI's criminal database and Van Pelt didn't recognize the people in it, nor did Rigsby… but we'll do anything possible to make sure it doesn't circulate too much. Hightower will need to have a look, but apart from her and maybe Bertram it will remain confidential." Jane stayed quiet, taking in Lisbon's words with his eyes still on the now paused screen, his arms folded across his chest. Eyeing him with concern, Lisbon continued, "Jane, if you want to talk about it, I'm here, I… I could call Sophie Miller, if you like, do you-"

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine, Lisbon," Jane interrupted. His jaw was still clenched and his eyes were red, making Lisbon doubt the truth in his words. "I just need to figure out what this means, Red John wouldn't have sent me this video if it didn't mean something… but what? What is he saying…"

"He's not _saying _anything Jane, he's just messing with you, trying to find a weakness to play on so you get provoked and he can have some more fun with you. Just ignore this, it doesn't _mean _anything."

"I can't ignore this, Lisbon, it's new information, we need any new information we can get if we're going to find him!" Jane had stood up now, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly. He was obviously still agitated from the video, and reacting far more heatedly than he normally would have.

"Dammit, Jane, this is NOT new information, we know this stuff, all it does is confirm exactly how he stabs a person to death!" Lisbon regretted her words immediately as Jane's face dropped its cover and revealed his sick, exhausted grief. He looked back down at the computer screen and sighed, using one hand to rub his temples. Lisbon crossed around the desk to where he stood and looked down at the computer screen too. The monitor still showed the video fully maximized in its window. It was paused on the frozen image of Charlotte Jane, on the frame that showed her eyes open, staring straight into the camera.

"Did you watch past this point?" Lisbon didn't know what else to say, so she settled for a question she already knew the answer to.

"Of course. A couple of times, I just…" Jane stopped, his voice slightly ragged, then cleared his throat and continued, "it's just strange to see her alive again." Lisbon looked at the left side of Jane's face as he stared at the image of his child. She could tell he was fighting to keep his face calm. She wanted so badly to comfort him.

"Jane-"

"Christina Frye lied to me." Lisbon was taken aback. She had no idea what Jane meant by this statement.

"Uh… what? She lied about what?"

"She told me Charlotte slept through it, the whole thing. I've been somewhat split over the truth in her psychic abilities, but I guess in some way I believed her… But Charlotte did wake up."

Lisbon suddenly felt defensive, angry at Christina for whatever false hope she had given Jane. Her voice was aggressive when she said "When did she tell you that, in what context?"

Jane looked at her suddenly, surprised by her sudden loud, eager question in contrast to her quiet, sympathetic demeanor moments earlier.

"Just after we solved the Rosemary Tennant case, when the daughter, Clara, was arrested. She asked me to speak in private, she said that my wife had a message for me, and that was it. That my daughter slept through the whole murder and wasn't able to get scared or feel pain. I shouldn't have taken her seriously, I should have known she just enjoys shocking people, getting a reaction from them."

Lisbon raised her eyebrows. "Did she get a reaction out of you?"

Jane answered with his own eyebrow raise and a shrug, and then said, "I was mostly just surprised she brought it up, I didn't think she'd go there… I underestimated her, it seems."

"How so?"

"Well, a big part of being a con artist is picking a target, a mark. You want to pick someone who won't spot your tricks, who can be easily manipulated. To try and pull that on another conman, well, that takes some real nerve."

"Did you really believe her?" Lisbon could see that, in his tired and traumatized state she had a rare opportunity to really learn about this man, Patrick Jane, as his normally iron guard was temporarily down. She was wary of taking advantage of him, but, considering how much time they spent together, was sure that any information she could gather about his psyche would be valuable in ultimately helping him.

Jane didn't look so sure about answering her question, though. He cocked his head to the side for moment as though he was considering how to answer and finally said quietly, "I wanted to believe her. She presented me with a nice scenario, I guess it was comforting. I mean, nothing changes that they're dead, but… My wife, she could handle anything, but Charlotte was just a kid, she was 9, didn't understand what was happening, why-" Jane seemed to finally break and he bent over almost double, burying his face in his hands, his legs almost giving way before Lisbon seized his left arm. Jane turned his face to her, still somewhat bent, and gasped, "I'm sorry," as she steered him back into her desk chair. As he sunk back into the chair she stood closer to him, her land still on his shoulder.

Jane was in unashamed tears now. "I've just pictured it so many times, I've been tortured by what happened to them. I actually _hoped _somehow that I would find some kind of evidence of what happened so I could at least know, I just wanted to know… I thought it would make things easier, but it's worse, it's so much _worse._"

Lisbon was choking back her own tears by this point, almost unable to handle such close proximity to Jane's rare display of emotion. She crouched to look into his face directly, grabbing his shoulders and said "Jane, listen to me. Nothing's worse, they're at peace now, they are somewhere better than we can know-"

Jane suddenly turned to her once more, his eyes dark and livid, still lit with tears, and said "Don't you say that, Lisbon, don't you dare, _they are not_ anywhere better, because _they are not anywhere! _They are dead and gone because I didn't think, I didn't think about what I was doing and I destroyed my family,_ I killed my daughter, I told her she was safe_, but she woke up and he tortured her and her father wasn't there to protect, like he said he would._ I said I would protect her." _

Jane sank his face back into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers twisting and pulling at his blonde curls, threatening to pull them out of his scalp as he let out low, quiet sobs, more choking and gasping then actually crying.

Lisbon's face was twisted in pity and anguish for Patrick Jane, who, in a way of intense friendship, she really loved. She could think of nothing to do but leave her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it with tender pressure, and simply wait. As she looked at this man who, despite all pretenses otherwise, was really just a broken shell, she thought of the words spoken by Clara Tennant just before they had arrested her for killing her mother: _"Parents are supposed to protect their children."_


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello! I really appreciate anyone reading this so far. This is my first fanfiction, so reviews, good or bad are very welcomed. Thanks!**

Wayne Rigsby and Grace Van Pelt had left the CBI building together and as they exited the building into the warm night air they were quiet and pensive. Their cars were near one another, and as she fished her keys out of her purse Van Pelt turned to Rigsby, wide-eyed, and said "Is it weird that I never thought of Jane's family as two real people?"

Rigsby gave that confused-kid look he often made and looked deep into Grace's face and replied, "I think I know what you mean… Well, I don't know, I mean, I've understood him a lot more since I had Ben, because if anyone ever hurt him, well, I couldn't tell you what I might do…"

Rigsby broke off and Grace, who for once couldn't be distracted by her ex-lover mentioning his new son, said, "What I mean is Jane never calls them by their names, does he? I mean, I didn't even realize they were called Angela and Charlotte until Lisbon said it just now. I just feel like I've known Jane for so long as this person that he is now, the idea of his 'wife and child' has been such an abstract idea to me… And now I just feel like I've never truly realized what it all meant… That poor woman, his wife, she seemed so young, didn't she? And that little girl…" Grace was interrupted by her own voice cracking, and Wayne took her into a gentle, enveloping hug.

"Hey, hey there, don't think on it too hard, okay? These things happen every day, it's our job to stay strong and fight against it, you know?" Grace nodded her head against her chest, and then pulled away to look at him again.

"Yeah, I guess. It's just- It's just hard when you have to look too closely, you know? I… well I guess it took this being thrown in our faces for me to understand why Jane is who he is. I hope he's-"

"He'll be okay, Grace. Hey, you know Jane, he'll be back to magic tricks and mind reading uh, I dunno, insulting us by morning!" Rigsby finished his sentence with a forced laugh, and Grace joined in, equally half-hearted. "Get some sleep, Grace."

Van Pelt nodded and opened her car door, saying "Good night, Wayne." It seemed so long since she had said it for the first time that night. Rigsby stood next to his own car, watching as Grace put her seat belt on, pulled out of her parking space, and headed out of the CBI gates towards home.

"I really loved them." That was the first thing Patrick Jane said after five minutes of muted sobbing while Teresa Lisbon had stayed crouched at his side, feeling thoroughly unsure of what to do besides remain there beside him. When he said those words she was startled, not only because it was the first time he'd spoken in five minutes but because it was the first time she'd ever heard him speak so openly about his feelings for his family. The fact that he loved his wife and daughter were, of course, a given, but he was usually so private about his personal life (or at least the one he'd once had) that to hear such a declaration from him was strange to Lisbon's ears.

"I honestly don't know why I'm still here, Lisbon. What am I still doing here?"

Lisbon was shocked for the second time in as many minutes. "What do you mean? You're here because working with the CBI gives you the best chance at catching Red John, why would you even question that, Jane? Jane?"

The weary blonde man was looking at her straight in the for the first time since his sudden collapse of mind of body, and said in almost a whisper, "I didn't mean the CBI, Teresa, I meant in this _life,_ what am I doing in this terrible, lonely life, what am I doing here without them? I don't know how much longer I can handle waking up every day and knowing I won't see them ever again. They were all that mattered to me and I ruined it, and I can't ever get it back. I can kill Red Jon, but I can't make things right again. It will never be right again."

Though Jane said all these words in close to a whisper they hit Lisbon in the face like bricks. Her insides felt cold and empty as she took in what he was saying. He didn't want to live anymore? How could that thought even occur to him? Didn't he see that he had people who cared about him? She knew no one could ever replace the family that he had loved and cherished beyond everything, but he still had a family of sorts here who would be devastated to see him succumb into an abyss of grief. Lisbon, Cho, Rigsby, Van Pelt, Minnelli, Hightower- all people who had an emotional stake in Jane's life, and he in all of theirs, though he was often too wrapped up in revenge to realize it.

"Jane, you have to stop this, you will destroy yourself with these kinds of thoughts! Please, your family wouldn't want to see you this way! You know they would hate you to be thinking these thoughts! Just stop for their sake, Jane, just stop!"

Lisbon was in crying thickly now, and Jane seemed to snap out of his mood at the sight of the heavy tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Uh, God, Lisbon, don't cry, look, I won't off myself just yet, okay? C'mon, look at me." And suddenly it was Jane who was comforting Lisbon, standing up and pulling her to sit back on the red couch where he placed himself beside her. "I was just having a weak moment, I usually save them to have in private, I'm sorry to have been that way in front of you."

Lisbon was still crying but had calmed down a little, and looked at Jane blearily and said "This has happened before? This isn't the first time you've been suicidal?"

Jane almost laughed. "Please, Lisbon, not to overstate the point, but my wife and daughter were tortured and killed because of something I did. It would be strange if I _wasn't_ suicidal."

Lisbon stared at Jane, aghast, unable to comprehend a human who could display such an intense array of emotions on so short a time. She was physically and emotionally drained and suddenly feeling pissy. "What are you saying, Jane, that at any given moment I can assume you just want to throw yourself off a bridge? Should I be hiding my gun?"

This made Jane smile in a sort of sad way, for, while he found what she said fairly funny, he was still feeling the pain of the night's discoveries. "I wouldn't say at _any_ given moment, after all, cases tend to be a pretty consistent distraction. More like, birthdays, anniversaries and national holidays, that kind of thing. At certain places too. Beaches… zoos, parks… theaters…" Jane let his sentence drift away as he appeared to remember better times, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

Lisbon's tears had dried by now, her snuffles had ceased, and her curiosity was back. "Why zoos?"

Jane smiled as genuinely as she had ever seen. "Charlotte loved zoos, she loved animals. She was totally crazy about them, in fact. She never seemed to get too into dolls or ballet or anything else like that—it was all about zebras and giraffes and lions with her. She, uh… she was a good kid. She was great." Jane felt better when he was thinking about the best parts of his daughter and her life, and the things she'd loved. But, as a human and as a father, he couldn't just yet let go the fact that he had just watched his child being cut open with a knife, slowly and agonizingly. But, for Lisbon's sake he would tone down the knee-hugging, hair-ripping and dry-heaving until he got back to his long term motel room.

Lisbon could sense something really important was happening, as Jane had never divulged this much private information to her, or anyone else, at least as far as she knew. He was known for keeping his past joy, as well as his current pain, very close to his chest. Lisbon was desperate to see more of this honest, vulnerable Jane.

"Tell me more about them."

Jane didn't look directly at Lisbon but rather, carried on looking slightly past her, picturing his family as he spoke. He began with a chuckle, "Angela and I met in the carnival, she- she came to one of my shows I was doing as The Boy Wonder, doing my psychic act. I was seventeen, she was sixteen and she came over to me after the show… the first thing she said to me was that she knew I was a fake and that it was wrong to take people's money in exchange for lies- those were her words exactly… _money in exchange for lies..._" Jane was smiling broadly now, a door having been opened inside him that was quickly letting out all the things that he had kept silent for years. He continued, "I told her I was sorry, and that I knew what I was doing was wrong, but that if I didn't take the money how would I take her out on Saturday night? She laughed and, well, the first time I saw her smile that was it. I was gonna marry her."

Lisbon listened, unable to take her eyes off of Jane as he told her the things she'd wanted to learn since the day she met him. She worked hard to restrain herself from asking questions, afraid that if she interrupted he would stop talking. She hoped that the look of intense interest on her face that she knew she hadn't a hope of disguising would spur Jane to keep talking, revealing his life, and himself.

"And I guess she agreed, because we were always together after that, we just… It was just how things were supposed to be, we just knew it. We helped each other through life in the carnival, because we had both come to hate it… in a… certain way. So when I was twenty we just left. I took some of my father's cash, she got some from her grandparents and we just took off… bought a car, found a small place in Los Angeles. And, uh, we just started our life together." Jane was frowning slightly, as he had come to the part in the story where he would begin to have great success as a psychic. Although he remembered the story, and all its consequences, perfectly, he hesitated at continuing. To say it out loud, to admit how he insisted on quickly gaining clients and booking television appearances, despite his wife's pleading with him not to… Patrick Jane had so much shame, he could barely find room to fit it any more. By telling these undeniable truths to Teresa Lisbon, whose opinion he valued beyond any living person's, they became concrete realities of Jane's life.

Lisbon could sense Jane closing off again, and knew she had to say something before she lost him again. She leaned toward him only slightly, thinking that if she treated him like a wild animal he might stay close. She tried to make her voice soothing and unthreatening and said "What were things like there?"

Jane swallowed visibly and was twisting his hands together. "Things were great. I was the happiest I was in my life. I thought nothing could go wrong."


	6. Chapter 6

**Once again, thanks for reading! This chapter is short, just a little more discussion between Lisbon and Jane over memories, feelings, etc. This is the end of Part 1 of the story, Part 2 will begin next chapter and the actual recording will come back to feature heavily. I know the timeline is a little sketchy in this story, because I've mentioned both Hightower and Ben Rigsby, but these are just characters whose dynamics I enjoy, hopefully you won't be distracted or annoyed lol. Thanks **

"It was like everything was falling into place so perfectly that I just decided to push my luck- our luck- as far as it would go. Things just kept working out for us. I was getting so much work doing the psychic gig and Angela was going to school and got her nursing degree by the time we were around twenty-three, twenty-four… And when she got pregnant, we were just just…" Jane stopped once again, suddenly acutely aware of Lisbon's presence. "I'm sorry, Lisbon, I'm sure you don't want to hear about all of this." He spoke his words with a small smile.

Lisbon had never felt so close to Jane as she did now. But she just needed him to keep talking, why did he have to stop? Couldn't he please just keep trusting her, that she wouldn't hurt him? She was almost yelling when she said "NO! I mean, no, I do want to hear about it Jane, I mean, if you want to. Talk about, I mean. What was the pregnancy like?"

"Pretty standard in a lot of ways, I suppose. Sonograms, morning sickness, setting up a nursery. I bought the house in Malibu a week after she told me she was pregnant. I, uh… I wanted our child to grow up somewhere beautiful. We both did." Jane's pauses were getting more frequent now, and Lisbon knew that, hard as she tried to resist it, he was closing down again, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. But, even as she acknowledged this, she was like a junkie on a limited supply of drugs… if Jane would just keep dealing out the hidden memories and emotions for just a moment, if Lisbon could just get one more fix… Casting away any idea of subtlety, Lisbon went for broke.

"Where you there for the birth? How did it go?"

Jane didn't look surprised at the intimate question, as he usually might have. It seemed that tonight, along with Lisbon's usual delicacy with family matters, Jane's defense was too on the lam. Continuing to look just past Lisbon, over her shoulder, as though he saw each thing he described, Jane looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, "It was… terrifying. I was totally unprepared to be a father, I was twenty-five years old and I just didn't have any idea what I was doing. Ang was holding it together, like she always did, but she was scared too, but then Charlotte came out and- well, she wasn't called Charlotte then- and it stopped being scary because it was _her_. She was mine and Angela's. She couldn't have been more perfect." Jane stared down at his hands with the face of a person regarding happy memories from a sad perspective.

"You didn't have the name picked when she came? Who thought of it?" As Lisbon heard herself ask this question she cringed, and then calmed herself by imagining she was talking about a living child, about whom it would be perfectly normal to ask such questions.

"I did. I went to the hospital gift shop and there were these personalized 'Happy Birthday' name tags. I was looking for a generic one that said 'baby' or something because we were nowhere near to figuring out a name. I saw a 'Charlotte' tag and it was her name, it just fit her." Jane's head was still hanging and Lisbon wondered if he would lose it again. As she steeled herself to say something, anything, he whipped his head back up and, with an exaggerated stretch of his arms, said, "Well, I'm beat, I'm going for the night. You better get some sleep too, Lisbon, you know what it'll be like tomorrow, no new cases and then suddenly three corpses will appear like they were waiting for us to put our feet up." And with that Jane strode cheerily out of the office towards his couch, where his suit jacket was resting over the worn leather arm.

Lisbon's fatigued brain went from startled to exasperated to concerned in a matter of seconds, and she slammed down her now cold cup of coffee on her desk as she hurried out of her office door to catch up with her consultant. "Wait, Jane, so you're just going to take off after all of that? I'm not sure that's even healthy, but then, I forget who I'm talking to."

"Question asked, question answered." Jane had his suit jacket on now and, car keys in hand, was already practically skipping out of the bullpen. "See you tomorrow, Lisbon!" he yelled, still moving.

Lisbon didn't know why she was surprised. She almost wondered if the whole thing had been a dream as she yelled at the back of Jane's head, "Well I hope that was cathartic to you, Jane, I'm gonna need therapy, but as long as you're good..." Without looking back Jane lifted his right hand in a jaunty wave before disappearing around the corner. With a final roll of her eyes Lisbon headed to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee.


	7. Chapter 7

**Well, it's been a while, but you know how it is. Thanks for reading x**

**Part II**

**Chapter 7**

Jane was in his car and driving full speed down the road when he realized how much he had shared with Lisbon. Though their conversation had ended only minutes ago he felt like he was hung-over after a night of heavy drinking, and was only just remembering what he said while inebriated. How could he let himself become so vulnerable? He'd gone almost ten years without an episode like that one; despite coming close during emotional situations, he had never revealed such intimate information like he just had to Lisbon. He wasn't worried about her opinion of him- if anything she would be happy that he'd opened up, in what she probably considered a healthy expression of grief. The real problem was that she wouldn't care none too much for his total reversal back to his normal attitude, which he planned to make happen quickly and possibly more intensely than before. Breaking down in front of Lisbon was one thing, but he could never let his guard down like that in front of the rest of the team.

Jane was still contemplating all of this when he pulled into his motel parking lot. He parked and turned his engine off, but sat still in the driver's seat for a moment, staring at his hands on the steering wheel, blue in the shadowy interior of his car. He could barely stand the thought of facing that lonely room one more time, though he had spent years living there off and on. He thought of how he had once loved coming home, how it had been the best part of his day, loosening his tie as he parked outside his large, beautiful home, almost always after dark. How he could see his daughter through the large glass panels, sprawled on the floor with big pieces of construction paper, crayons and markers littered around her. How, as he walked down the hall, into the kitchen, he could hear the radio playing his wife's favorite oldies station, her soft voice murmuring along to the song lyrics.

Jane shook his head violently before his mind would let him get any further than that. He quickly yanked his keys out of the ignition and practically jumped out of the car, slamming the car door behind him, and rushed up the stairs to his second-story room. Once inside he went to the small desk littered with papers and photographs, all Red John related, and thrust open the laptop sitting atop the entire mess. Into the USB port at the side of the computer he jammed in a small memory stick and waited for the contents to appear. Shortly, a small window appeared on the screen and Jane selected the file he wanted to view. The video of the Jane murders was once again playing.

&&&%%%###

Charlotte Jane appeared totally nonplussed by the knife pointed straight at her chest. She looked down at it, then back at her attacker several times. She then opened her mouth, and managed only half a word, something like, "Wha-" before the two hands on the camera frame drove the knife deep into her body. Her eyes opened even wider than before, and tears came flooding down her cheeks, though made no noise. The knife was so large, and her body so small, the little girl seemed immediately at the point of death. She didn't scream or say anything. She simply sharply sucked in a breath and, her eyes drooped half closed, went limp in her killer's hands. Those gloved hands pulled out the knife and laid her head back on her pillow as blood streamed out of her, soon soaking her shirt and bedcovers. Charlotte's eyes were still slightly open, and she turned her head weakly to look at the person hurting her. Her mouth moved, but she couldn't seem to speak. Her arms and legs twitched a little, but she seemed quite unable to move otherwise. Without warning, the knife-holding hands stabbed into the picture, and into her body, once more, in her belly this time. She made noise this time, but it was only a pained whimper, and by the time the knife thrust into her a few seconds later, she was already dead, her eyes shut as though in sleep. Though he must have known this, the killer continued to stab her until her torso was unrecognizably glistening red.

In his thirtieth or so viewing, Jane was finding it easier not to react so much to this footage. He took a long drink from his bottle of bourbon and stared at the screen, trying to focus on details; the movement of the killer's hands, the shape of his forearms, his height, judging from the angle at which the camera looked down at Charlotte's bed. He was filing these things away carefully in his oft-mentioned memory palace. It was getting close to 4 am now, and Jane had no plans to shut down his computer and go to sleep. As far as he was concerned, he would continue to watch it until he collapsed in exhaustion. For, whatever he told Lisbon about possible clues, whatever he told _himself _about possible clues, the value of this recording was in its serving of a single purpose: as the absolute conclusion to his beloved family's lives, the immovable truth in what happened in their final living, breathing moments. And so he watched.

He watched as the camera backed away from the now deceased little girl, and turned to exit her room, just minutes after having entered. It turned right now, and resumed its path down the main hall towards the closed door at the end, where it would finish its bloody occupation. The left hand, still wearing the black glove, though it now shone with undried blood, soundlessly turned the doorknob and opened the door. The camera's sight took in the master bedroom more dimly than it had the little girl's. Where hers had no curtains (she didn't like the dark, but preferred the moonlight) her parents had heavy linen curtains over their windows that blocked out light entirely. The only illumination came from a small tabletop lamp that sat on top of the dresser on the left side of the room. Jane knew without thinking that his wife had left it on, as she did every time he was coming home late, so that he could find his way in the dark.

Just as he had before, the killer made a beeline towards his victim. Angela Jane slept on the right side of the double bed, lying on her side and facing inwards towards the spot her husband usually occupied beside her. Her reddish-brown hair was in a loose ponytail at the top of her neck, and she seemed entirely undisturbed, unaware of the violence taking place in her home. The screen went around to the side where she slept and went right to her face, so close that Jane could hear his wife's slow, relaxed breathing. The killer seemed to take a different strategy this time, because, instead of waking her up with jostling movements, as he had her daughter, he instead roused her with a stab, using the knife that was still covered in her child's blood. The camera focused on Angela's abdomen as the knife disappeared into it, and, again unlike her daughter, she was suddenly awake and quite alert, turning onto her back as she opened her eyes in time to see the knife being drawn back out of her, presumably poising for its next assault. She screamed in agony and clutched at the wound, her face contorting in pain as her eyes focused on her attacker. She was quite a bit more vocal than her daughter had been, and Jane had a feeling that that was the reason for Red John's slightly altered attack method. Charlotte had always been a quiet, shy child, nervous of speaking, and her muted death must have been more than unsatisfactory for a murderer who got off on administering a miserable, begging death.

Angela must have satisfied him deeply.

"_Please stop! Stop! Don't hurt my daughter, please don't hurt her_!" This went on for many minutes longer than Charlotte's murder. Red John knew how to draw out the death of a victim that amused him. "_Why are you doing this?! Please stop! Please… don't…" _And, now riddled with dozens more stab wounds, Angela died, her pleas for mercy still on her lips. The camera backed away from the scene slowly, as though the killer was admiring his work. Certainly, this scene was more graphic than the previous one; Angela had struggled and fought until she could no longer, and Red John had had to kill her more violently (if possible) and less precisely. Her blood streaked up the walls above the bed, and was splattered on the floor and the bed, even the ceiling. Her eyes had stayed open, staring at nothing. Her body was still tense, her arms splayed in different directions, her legs bent, her neck twisted in pain.

After a few steps backwards the camera turned and left the room with its door open. No longer worried about waking the house's inhabitants, the sounds coming from the killer became looser, freer. The footsteps were loud and heavy, sounding like work boots, as he made his way back into Charlotte's room and towards the bed and body. Quickly and roughly the hands in their gloves reached out to pick up the little girl, draping her by the knees and armpits over the black-clothed forearms. He was moving quickly now, the pleasurable part over, moving on to the work. Straight back into the master bedroom, over to the bed, the killer laid the now-stiffening body of Charlotte Jane alongside her mother's. He straightened out her limbs, adjusted her t-shirt and pajama bottoms so that they were neatly positioned on her body, and then did the same for Angela, arranging her limbs gracefully, closing her eyes, smoothing down her hair. From the two bodies there must have been gallons of blood in the room, some of it dried, most of it still wet and dripping. With the new addition of the still-bleeding child, the bed itself no longer betrayed any trace of its previous white state.

The killer didn't stop for any admiration this time. He turned sharply and headed out of the bedroom door, shutting it loudly behind him. He stopped outside of the closed door to look down at his hands and remove the black gloves, revealing a pair of tight-fitting latex gloves that he had been wearing beneath them, still crisp and white, untouched by the blood that was undoubtedly covering the rest of him. The right hand left the screen for a moment, and reentered holding a white piece of paper with printed words on it, probably retrieved from an inner pocket. The same pocket probably held the tape which the left hand now used to fasten this paper onto the door.

_Dear Mr. Jane,_

_ I do not like to be slandered in the media, especially by a dirty, money-grubbing fraud. If you were a real psychic, instead of a dishonest little worm, you wouldn't need to open the door to see what I've done to your lovely wife and child. _


End file.
